


Shadow of the Gates

by Ayulsa (execharmonious)



Category: Mana Khemia: Alchemists of Al-Revis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-29
Updated: 2010-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/execharmonious/pseuds/Ayulsa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes courage he doesn't possess to make him walk away. For the RP at watchoverall.livejournal.com.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow of the Gates

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I got obsessed over here with the idea that Mana work like daemons in His Dark Materials, based on the scene where Flay and Roxis have to sit around hanging out so their Mana can talk. If you haven't read that series, basically, having your daemon go too far from you is the greatest agony your soul can feel. But witches would strain the bond on purpose to allow their daemons to travel far, and now that Vayne, Roxis and Isolde are all bound together in an awkward collection of pacts, it's only practical that they do the same....

He pressed his cheek into the collar of the cloak she had loosely tethered around his shoulders. It was a heavy material, dyed dark green, and a little scratchy, but he didn't mind it. The weight bearing down on him had the familiar tinge of Isolde's energy, and in that context, the pressure felt like a warm embrace. He was sure he'd be glad of that memory further into his journey, if he could only keep hold of the idea.

He knew she was probably thinking the same thing. After all, he'd been down to the Mana Ruins before in just his regular clothes; all the students had. It wasn't especially cold down there, not with the energy the lingering traces of Mana-presence gave off. She wanted to bind him to her with something physical, a symbol that would keep his thoughts on their pact and calm her heart, too, when she pictured it in her mind. He appreciated the gesture, more than he knew how to say.

The school gates, towering and majestic in their wrought white steel, had never looked more ominous. He passed through them on a regular basis, without much thought; he had expected that, at graduation, he would feel a sickness to his heart upon leaving them behind him one final time. But that had been before all of this-- before it seemed that, after all, he might not be leaving his soon-to-be alma mater, and that this would be the real testing of bonds, suddenly come all too soon. Graduation, he could have anticipated: marking off the days on the calendar, watching the hustle and bustle in the halls slowly dwindle as assignments were completed, classes wound to a close, and all that remained was to sit back in anxious hope and await the results of one's labours. But this had been unpredictable, a dark shadow sent in to claim them; and even though he had beckoned it with his own hands, thinking it had to be better, better than the growing agony of unspoken resentments wearing a chasm between them all, he felt so much less than ready.

Of course he wasn't ready. It wasn't possible to be ready for this; he might as well have said he was ready to stick a knife into his own heart. Ready for death, ready for change, that he could imagine, but the sheer rawness of pain-- its very definition that which made one recoil, which forced one instinctively to cry and protest and try to turn away, no matter how much determination one tried to summon in advance-- was impossible to face with confidence.

He knew they felt the same. Isolde was trying to look parental, all her concerns projected outwards onto him, but one look at her, his knowledge augmented by their bond, revealed the naked fear inside her heart. Roxis was more transparent yet: his mouth was drawn in a thin line, his complexion as pale as Vayne had ever seen it. Already he looked like he was being pulled on, terribly, like they were already miles apart.

There was no sense in drawing this out. No sense in torturing them all. "I... I guess I should get going."

Isolde gave a nod, sharp, solemn. He could tell by the rigidity with which she held her jaw that she wasn't letting herself speak, lest she burst into tears. Roxis just looked at him, like he had a million words to say, and wished he could convey them all with his eyes, fiery pools of molten terror. _I know, Roxis, I know. You don't have to say a word. Neither of you do._

He would have taken that first step right then, but while he'd been standing there, his legs had turned to lead, and he thought he would topple if he moved. The world seemed to sway in front of him just at the thought of the action, as if he were staring over the edge of a cliff, and to take just that one step forward was to jump, to throw himself irrevocably into an uncertain and horrid abyss.

It was Isolde, as ever, who broke the stalemate. He saw her features shift into an iron mask, all her courage gathered for this single act, and felt, rather than heard, the sharp crack with which she brought her palms together. "Go."

Like a spirit dismissed by a priestess, he dropped to his hands and ran, all four limbs having suddenly discovered how to propel him across the land. He thanked her, internally, for doing what he could not bring himself to; and he hoped the sentiment reached her, for he knew that if he looked back at their faces, even for that, he would not move again.

The only one who glanced back was Sulpher, occasionally pausing in his tracks to look at the little gathered crowd, until Vayne had run on far enough that he, too, felt the pull, and hastily scurried after him.

***

He'd expected the physical pain, before the guilt. So the breath was almost squeezed from him in shock when, unbidden, images of the past flooded into his mind.

Vivid as day, he saw Isolde charging at him, so surely that he swerved to avoid the apparition; but it played on in his mind, a recounting of the battle beneath the Resource Centre, where, in her desperation and blind rage, she had lashed out at the gathering of students in an attempt to get to Vayne. He'd seen her blade flash out inches from Roxis' chest and, propelled by instinct, leapt between her and him; he'd meant only to block her with his hands, but panic had taken over, and before he'd even been able to blink Sulpher was in his hand and his blade was in her side, her face twisted in pale agony, her warm blood all over his skin. Those too-honed reflexes, and he hated in that moment that he knew how to fight. No, he'd always hated that, but he'd never known why; and now this, this was the embodiment of why. Time drained away, like that blood, through his fingers to the ground as he felt her convulse around Sulpher, every tiny motion searing pain through his senses as if his own flesh gripped the blade.

He saw Roxis, long before they'd come anywhere close to pacting: snapshots of their encounters over the past three years, the things that Vayne had said in innocence that had wounded Roxis to the core. The times he hadn't noticed, but his memory had captured for him, replayed now in faithful detail, how his eyes had flashed with hurt; how he'd struggled to keep his expression neutral, to choke down his anger and weakness, to resist raging at Vayne because he knew all his efforts would be futile. And how that had injured his pride still further, and how he had balled his fists into the sheets at night, his face ruddy and streaked with tears he'd never let anyone see-- except Vayne saw, now, through the pact, and that only heightened the guilt he felt.

Memories were just memories, and the past couldn't be undone; but he felt, now, with every step, like he recreated those actions in their hearts. Over and over, the scoring of the earth beneath the traction of his claws was his blade, tearing through her flesh; over and over, the arch of his back as his limbs rose and fell was a rebuff to Roxis' shattered pride.

And the worst thing about it was that, with all the certainty of an alchemist and of a Mana, he knew that these were not just visions. In their minds, as in his own, the exact same scenes were playing out. The knives in their hearts were true.

Something screamed in the distance, rolling over the land like thunder; and whether it was a monster, or his pactmates, or the echo of his own cry, he didn't know how to tell.


End file.
